


Beyond the Abyss

by Kevin_Mask (Nikolai_Knight)



Category: Kinnikuman Nisei | Ultimate Muscle
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Fear of Abandonment, First Aid, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 15:24:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17563040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikolai_Knight/pseuds/Kevin_Mask
Summary: The grief was too much to bear.After a lifetime of abandonment, Kevin could stand no longer. He attempted to take his life.Little did he realise, Warsman would be there to save him.





	Beyond the Abyss

_A voice called_. . .

It was faint to his dulled senses. A flickering and fading sound just beyond the door, like something half-heard on wakening from a dream, and Kevin struggled to lift his head, as the waters sloshed about his body within the bathtub. The waters grew murky and crimson, with small swirling clouds of red gushing from his wrists. He stared at the patterns. Each one brought a small smile, as his arms hung limply against the porcelain.

The pain was numbed from the initial agony, instead it throbbed and pounded in time with his pulse, like a chokehold or a basic lock, and the warm waters only eased the pressure and relaxed his muscles. A red line separated the skin of his wrist, enough to provide a permanent scar should he call for help, but he remained silent . . . hair floating on the waters surface, body submerged . . . a scent of iron in the air . . . silence. He was light-headed, the room spinning around him, and bright flashes of colour sparked about his vision.

A creak of the door brought him from his dreams. The world around him grew sharper . . . clearer . . . he lolled his head against the bathtub, as stray locks of his dyed fringe clung to his forehead with sweat and steam, and a hazy shape appeared looming like a black shadow. It hurt to focus his gaze, even as Kevin furrowed his brow and tilted his head. The figure lunged for him, like something from a nightmare. He cried out. The pain returned.

_‘Kevin, what have you done?’_

The dark figure dove on him. A loud whirring noise invaded his senses, as a plug was pulled and water drained around his feet with a strange pressure, and his body – now exposed – shivered as goosebumps broke over his flesh, while he moaned from discomfort. The cold dug deep into him like shards of ice. He tossed and turned in the bathtub, as he strove to find some form of warmth. The chattering of his teeth echoed out as he mewled.

A rustle of fabric followed, as someone wrapped towels about his wrists. They were tied with intense strength, forcing a cry of pain from his lips, and it was so sharp – so hot, so intense – it was as if the first slice of a blade were tugging at his flesh all over again . . . tears spilled from his eyes, distorting his vision. A firm grip held his hands high overhead. He was too weak to fight, so that his arms hung limply from the stranger’s hold, and soon a muscular arm came beneath his shoulder blades to lift him into a sitting position. Kevin mumbled:

“H-How did – How did you find me?”

The figure struggled to pull him from the bathtub. They were smaller and lighter in frame, with a lower Chojin Power, and their hands were ice cold against his flesh, like the cool touch of metal on warm skin. Kevin fell limp. He was dragged from the tub with no consent, even as his bare feet slid and slipped on the damp tiles of the bathroom floor. Low mewls and whines were his only protest, while the intruder awkwardly half-carried and half-dragged him into the bedroom, and threw him down onto the bed with a huff of exertion.

They lay him flat, but tied his wrists to the bedposts. A low chuckle fell brokenly from his lips, as he suspected the worst, until some muttered curses in Russian were followed with the sheets being brought high about his chin, and his body was tucked into bed with the gentleness of one putting to bed a young child. A cold hand pressed itself to his forehead, as it checked his temperature and the clammy sweat. The pillows were plumped behind his head.

Kevin tugged at his binds. The towels that bound him gave way entirely with a simply tug, although it drew another curse in a foreign tongue . . . _‘please, keep them extended’_. . . the fabrics were retied, while the mattress dipped and someone dashed away from the bed. He fell in and out of consciousness, until a cold glass pressed itself to his lips. The mattress dipped again, as someone sat astride him, and they guided his head to drink at the water, something both sweet and salty as if something were added for nutrients.

“I am sorry for the position of your arms,” said a familiar voice. “You need to keep your arms extended and pressure on the wounds, so as to promote clotting and prevent any further bleeding, and this water should help hydrate you and give back what you need. I have added a pinch of salt and sugar, although I would suggest a blood transfusion.”

“I – I’m not – I refuse to go to a – a – a hospital.”

“I hate to agree with you in this situation, but I think you may be correct. If you were to be sectioned in a psychiatric ward, it might prejudice Ikemen into disallowing you as a contestant in the next Chojin Olympics. I would not wish for you to damage your career.”

Kevin rapidly blinked. The glass was pulled away, where it was dropped onto the bedside table with a clatter, and Kevin drew in deep and slow breaths, as his eyes finally focussed enough to make sense of the black shadow that dragged him from the bathtub. A black face-plate betrayed a robotic heritage, but the yellow eyes were filled with warmth and passion, while a smile broke over the lower part of the plate . . . partly human . . . flesh blending almost seamlessly into metal. A tear ran over Kevin’s cheek, as he choked out:

“W-Warsman?”

A callused finger brushed away the tear that receded into his hairline. Warsman cracked a broken smile, while he ran his fingers through the locks of dirty-blond hair, and he whispered words of Russian and English, at odds with the radio that blasted through a commentary of a match in the local Japanese. A ray of moonlight shone through the balcony doors, which caught at Warsman’s black armour and brought a shine to his chest. Kevin pulled his hands from their bonds and rested them on his chest. The bleeding had stopped.

“You found me,” whispered Kevin.

“I never lost you,” said Warsman. “I’ve been watching you from afar this entire time. I was there when you trained against the Demon Seed . . . it was me who dragged you from the Toyama power-plant, just as it was me who nursed you back to health. I am just ashamed that I failed to notice how you needed me now. It was not my idea to check on you.”

“Who – Who sent you? I – I thought I was alone here.”

“Truth be told, it was Robin that contacted me. He grew concerned when you refused to return to England, but more so when you would not answer his calls despite his hopes that you had reconciled, and he knew I was still by your side. He feared for your health.”

“Why did you worry? When have I ever responded to my father?”

“I did not initially worry. Indeed, I know you too well.” Warsman winced. “It was then that I contacted both Mars and Ikemen, but neither was able to make contact. It is true you would not necessarily respond to your father, but you would not ignore the calls of your friend or the chairman. I still had my old key and so I let myself in when you did not answer.”

A gentle touch fell upon his wrist. They were turned slowly, as Warsman pressed a callused finger to the edges and dabbed with a wet cloth to clean at the wounds, and Kevin – hissing and cursing – arched his back and kicked at the sheets. He gritted his teeth. The pain was intense, while the wounds still beaded with blood in places. A scraping of the bedside table betrayed the opening of a drawer, as Warsman withdrew a small sewing kit and whispered:

“Why did you do this, Kevin?”

Kevin fell silent. The quiet was broken by a loud cry, when the first needle connected with the edges of his wound, and – choking back on saliva and bile – Kevin clenched his fist until his knuckles turned white, while Warsman expertly sewed together the edges. Tears poured over his cheeks, as he forced himself into a sitting position. He panted. The searing pain would soon fade in a dull throb, eased with bandages stolen from the first-aid kit in the bathroom, but for now he was light-headed and dizzy from the agonising sensations.

“I don’t know,” said Kevin. “Why did you leave me?”

A low sigh escaped Warsman, who dashed away for the first-aid kit. The absence was more than Kevin could bear, as he pulled his legs to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, and – burying his head into his knees – he held back choked sobs, while Warsman returned with bandages in hand and gentle touches to his wrists. Warsman forced a broken smile, while he applied the bandages and disinfectants with an affectionate touch. He asked:

“Is that why you attempted suicide, Kevin?”

“This was _not_ a suicide attempt.”

“Is that right?” Warsman shook his head. “You will forgive me if I point out that your condition would have been terminal, were it not for my arrival. Those wounds will take a few days to heal, even for a Chojin, and they could not have been made by anything than a self-inflicted intent. Do you realise what damage you could have done?”

“Any damage would have been mine alone,” said Kevin. “I fail to see why it matters to you – _or_ my father – whether I decide to breathe my last in a bathtub or fifty years from now in a hospital ward, especially when you were the one to turn your back on me. You trained me, befriended me, gained my trust, and then . . . then you _left_ me. Why is it that everyone I love leaves me or hates me? Who would I even have to mourn my death? Why suffer when –”

“When no one would care?”

“Well, do _you_ pretend to care? I am not blind to my colleagues. I see how they’re surrounded by friends and family and even lovers, never alone and never afraid, and here I must act the lone wolf, because I cannot stand the sting of betrayal again. I thought . . . I _thought_ that I could be strong without you, because surely you must have had your reasons to leave, but then I simply remembered that I was not enough for you . . . _I was not good enough_!”

“Kevin, you were always – _always_ – good enough. If I had known these abandonment issues ran so deep, I would have stayed to give you closure and provided a true goodbye, but – I shall be honest – I feared you would reject me for having came to you under false pretences. I was wrong to assume your reactions, but I came to you first on behalf of Robin . . .”

Kevin scoffed, as he choked back on his tears. He swung around and dropped feet to the carpeted floor, only to blush as he was faced with his nude state, and yet – before he could rise – the sheets were being pulled around him and tied at his side, while Warsman locked eyes with him during the entire process. There were no stolen glances. There were no inappropriate glances. Kevin reached with a trembling hand to brush his fingers against Warsman’s cheek, while he leaned ever closer and pressed their foreheads together.

“I thought you loved me,” said Kevin. “Was that a lie, too?”

 _Silence_. Warsman knelt down before Kevin, with his head hung low, and his hands rested on sheet-covered knees with a firm squeeze, while tears dripped from his eyes and onto the carpet between them. Kevin struck at his head. The loud slap rang out, but Warsman took the blow and made no move for self-defence. Another blow . . . Another. Another. _Another_. Kevin wept and screamed and struck over and over . . . until he slid from the edge of the bed onto the floor, toppling forward with his arms thrown around Warsman. He pleaded:

“ _Was that a lie, too?_ ”

He sobbed into the crook of Warsman’s neck. Warsman rubbed circles at his lower back, while his other hand stroked at his blond locks of hair, and they held one another . . . both sobbing, both broken . . . only their cries pierced the air. Minutes passed. Time stopped around them, until there were no more tears left to cry, and Warsman lifted Kevin back onto the bed and tucked him back into the folds of the sheets. He leaned over Kevin. The gentle strokes of his hair returned, while Kevin watched him with hazy vision.

“I am very much in love with you,” swore Warsman. “I simply . . . I simply allowed my insecurities to let me believe that you could never love me in return. I spent my childhood hidden away, Kevin, ashamed of my face and ashamed of my heritage, and then . . . then my father committed suicide in the ring. If I had known you felt the same sense of worthlessness, I would have told you that it certainly was not your fault. It was simply . . .

“It was simply a tragedy we both experienced such hardships. I was able to redeem myself and use my talents for the better, just as you have achieved, and I have spent these years in vast awe of all you have accomplished. I did not believe you could love someone like me, but it seems you perhaps believed I could not love someone like you. I do, Kevin.”

“You left me. I cried out for you and you left me! Forgive me, if I cannot trust a word you say after you swore you would always be my second. Tell me, what happens now? Am I to instantly trust you and be healed by the power of friendship? Is that it?”

“On the contrary, Kevin.” Warsman pushed back a stray hair. “I merely wanted you to know that you were not alone and this was not your fault, but now we must work on rebuilding your self-esteem and putting foundations in place for appropriate coping mechanisms. You will likely be frustrated in the upcoming weeks, as you must be on suicide watch, but this is for your own protection, so that you do not harm yourself again.”

Kevin laughed and rolled onto his side. He pulled himself into a foetal position, while Warsman climbed onto the bed beside him, and soon muscular arms pulled him flush against that chiselled chest with a firm hold. It lured him into a dreamlike state. The physical exhaustion and fatigue crashed against him, while the pain throbbed in time with his pulse, and his heart . . . his heart ached . . . like a black hole of grief in his chest, that threatened to consume his very identity. All hope was lost. Warsman choked out:

“You’re not alone, Kevin.”

 _Lies. All lies_. The tears spilled hot from his eyes, as Kevin dared not hope it true. He clutched hard at Warsman’s eyes, leaving long scratches down the synthetic skin, and a loud wail escaped his throat like a dying animal, as he wept in earnest. Warsman pressed his face to still wet locks of hair, as he breathed deep and barely hid his broken sobs in turn. They remained locked together, both crying and both lost . . . Warsman whispered:

“You’re not alone.”


End file.
